“Don’t turn and twist—I know you’re cleverer than me.”
Her hand sought his. “Don’t let us have a storm in a teapot!”
But he rumbled on. “With all my worldly goods I thee endow—it’s the man says that.”
“You’ve been reading the marriage service.”
“And how would you know it, if you hadn’t?”
That suspended the debate on a kiss. “You see I’d be almost as bad as poor Charley Mott,” he pointed out.
“I see,” she said humbly. Indeed she felt herself so much a part of him now that she wondered how she could have failed to look at it from his point of view. Her defeat of his coach—under Providence—had humiliated him enough. To have turned suddenly into an heiress was an aggravation of her success; now to make him appear a fortune-hunter would be the last straw.
“But couldn’t I buy the farm and you rent it of me?” she ventured, with a memory of Hezekiah Bidlake.
“Everybody would think just the same——”
“Well, but somewhere else—where nobody knows us——?”